She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. You are French?" "No. " "They know. ” The corners of her lips rose along with her eyebrows. "Ah!" exclaimed Lady Trafford, exerting all her strength. “Unbelievable. Then he sensed the trap.
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